Spiritual Lessons: A Meditation on Columbus Day

 Writing time is short this morning, so let me run a Columbus Day post that I wrote some years ago. It's one of my favorite meditations on Columbus.

Today we celebrate Columbus Day: October 12 was the actual day of the first sighting of land after almost 2 months at sea. I’m always amazed at what those early explorers accomplished. At Charlestowne Landing (near Charleston, SC), I saw a boat that was a replica of the boat that some of the first English settlers used to get here. It was teeny-tiny. I can't imagine sailing up the coast to the next harbor in it, much less across the Atlantic. Maybe it would have been easier, back before everyone knew how big the Atlantic was.

In our spiritual lives, we may be feeling a bit like Columbus. Let’s ask some questions prompted by Columbus Day, questions that may lead us to some meaningful meditations.

Below, when I talk about our spiritual lives, I’m talking about our individual lives and expressions of spirituality, as well as our corporate spiritual lives, the lives we live in the company of fellow believers.

--In our spiritual lives, are we the explorer or are we the native populations of new continents? Or are we members of the Old World? In other words, are we always striking out for new lands? Or are we waiting to be discovered? Are we so tied to our traditions that we can’t even imagine how our lives could be different?

--As spiritual people, how long are we willing to be at sea? I’m part of a church tradition, mainstream Protestantism, that looks back longingly to the 1950’s, when it seemed that everybody made time for church. Many of us hope that we will soon return to a time when church returns to its central location. But we may have only started our time at sea, on a voyage of discovery. Can we trust God? Can we continue to hold onto our faith when we're in the middle of a vast ocean, with nothing but our instruments and the stars to guide us, with no sense of how far away the land for which we're searching might be?

--We may be certain we’re on a quest to find one kind of wealth. In the process, we may discover something completely different, something far more valuable? Will we recognize the value of what we find?

--The explorations in North and South America changed our cooking forever. Imagine a culinary life without corn, sweet peppers, tomatoes. Imagine life without chocolate. What ways can our spirituality enrich our cultures?

--Of course, if I was looking through the Native American lens, I might say, "Imagine life without smallpox." What are the possible negative impacts implicit in the collision between secular culture and sacred culture? Can we mitigate those? Should we mitigate those?

--These explorations wouldn’t have been possible without the patronage of the wealthiest of society members. In our current world, many of us are some of the wealthiest people on the planet. North Americans may not feel like it, but we’re the Isabella and Ferdinand of our time. What projects should we be funding? What spiritual projects will make the kind of lasting legacy of funding the voyage of Columbus?

Sermon for Sunday, October 4, 2026, the Feast Day of Saint Francis

October 4, 2026
By Kristin Berkey-Abbott



Matthew 21:33-46


The parable in today’s sermon doesn’t need much explaining. We read it and see the landowner’s son as Jesus and the servants as the prophets. Even the earliest listeners who might not have heard the parable and thought about God and Jesus would have understood the message.


None of us probably see ourselves as the tenants who brutalize the messengers from the landowner and kill the landowner’s son. Jesus might tell us otherwise. The hopeful message of today’s Gospel is that even rejected stones can become the building block of something new, something lasting.


Today, October 4, we celebrate the life of one of these rejected stones. Today is the feast day that celebrates the life of Saint Francis of Assissi, who was born in 1181. He died 800 years ago yesterday, which means he was 44 years old. Most people have encountered this saint through concrete statues in our gardens, but we may not recognize him as a saint so much as we see a monk.


Many of us are familiar with the Saint Francis who was kind to animals. We celebrated that aspect of him last week, with our blessing of pets as part of worship. But Francis’ view of animals was more radical than many of us may realize. He called all creatures his brothers and sisters. Many of us think of our pets as our family, and we forget what a departure from the history of human treatment of animals this is.


For that matter, treating all humans as equal is a fairly radical, at least in western belief systems. When I teach literature of the 19th century, I remind my students that the evolving belief that we find in some of the literature, that women should have the same rights as men, would be as baffling a notion to most 19th century people as if I suggested that our computers have rights.


Of course, in a time of artificial intelligence becoming ever smarter, this idea may come to be one we’ll need to think more seriously about in our lifetimes.


Francis saw nature as one kind of testament to God, a way to know God, much the way most of us think of scripture. Others had this idea before Francis, but his popularity as a saint has made this idea a popular one. Most of us are quite happy with our Bibles as testament, but for those who have a more troubled relationship with Christianity, the idea that one can find evidence for God outside of scripture is important.


Francis was groundbreaking in other ways. He took Jesus’ preaching about including the outcast to new levels. Like Mother Theresa, Francis lived among the lepers, at a time when very few others were willing to do so. He traveled to Egypt, both to do missionary work, but also to reach out to Muslims to try to find a peaceful path out of the attempted genocide of the Crusades.


Let that sink in. He went to Egypt to try his hand at peacemaking with Muslims, even while other good Christians were trying to slaughter them. Francis’ contemporaries saw Muslims as a marauding force, murderous and not quite human. And Francis goes to negotiate with them. Not only did he treat animals as intrinsically valuable parts of God’s creation, worthy of respect, but also Muslims. And lepers. Basically, he treated all parts of creation as worthy of respect—which is an idea very much ahead of his time, and perhaps very much ahead of our own.


Francis founded 3 religious orders, 2 of which survive to this day. In one of his orders, he and his brothers went out as friars, living among the people who needed them most, like lepers. Francis came from a wealthy family, and he spent that wealth in pursuit of not more wealth, but care for those whom society had abandoned or tried to slaughter.


As a founder of religious orders, Francis wrote down rule books for how to live in community, rule books which are still being used today. He also created new ways of worship. He is given credit for creating the first Nativity scene. He is also the first to have living animals as part of a Nativity scene. He wanted worshipers to engage with all of their senses. Here in the 21st century, we’re still trying to find new ways of doing that. Think of what Francis might have done if he had access to our technology.


Of course, he might have been a back to basics man, as evidenced by all the ways he tried to include living creatures in worship. He is often depicted as preaching to the birds and other woodland creatures; he probably had some members of his religious community there with him too. I imagine Francis with an outdoor pavilion like ours, finding new ways to engage our senses by taking us out of our buildings and fortresses.


Let’s be very clear, though—in being ahead of his time, Francis was not seen as a chief cornerstone. The religious rulers of his time rejected him in the same way that the rulers of the first century rejected Jesus.


There has been a growing movement to have a season within the season of the time after Pentecost, the season of Creation, also called the Season of Christ in Creation or the Feast of Creation. It’s an ecumenical idea, grounded in the ancient liturgical tradition of the Orthodox church. This year, some churches began celebrating on September 1, the World Day of Prayer for the Care of Creation, and for those congregations, this season within a season ends today, on the feast day that celebrates Saint Francis. Our liturgical materials that come from Sundays and Seasons have given us some liturgical elements that celebrate this new season during the past six weeks.


Francis has become one of the cornerstones that Christ foretold, building a stronger church. In a few weeks, on Reformation Sunday, we’ll hear about another cornerstone, Martin Luther. It’s good to remember that cornerstones don’t begin as cornerstones, not necessarily. They often look like the rubble left from once impenetrable fortresses.


In today’s parable and so many other teachings, Jesus declares that God has given us a good garden. Saints like Francis call us to care for that garden more deeply than we have in the past. These messages continue to resonate for a reason. We live in a time when all of creation groans, and so many of us yearn for something better, for deliverance from the murderous forces that surround us. May we be like Saint Francis, stepping forward to show that there is a different way to live in God’s garden. May we be the cornerstones, holding up the structures that will nurture future generations.

More Thoughts on Housing

ELCA pastor Clint Schnekloth has been doing some interesting thinking and writing about housing and the Church's responsibility in this time of housing lack; this piece about the vacant (not abandoned so much as underused and underutilized) church space is his latest, and this piece has some specific examples of responses by individual churches.

My church is much smaller, both in terms of space and members, than Schnekloth's church in Arkansas.  We have had members who needed temporary housing, which has led me to ponder our own use of space.  We don't have an educational wing/building with unused space.  It would take some radical rethinking to transform any of the rooms below the sanctuary.  It's a country church, with the sanctuary and restrooms on the first floor, and in the basement, a kitchen, a small fellowship hall, two bathrooms (one with a walk-in shower), three classrooms, one storage area, and a pastor's office.

As a very part-time minister who is only at the church on Sunday, I would be happy to give up my office to be a one room sleeping area for someone in crisis, even if the crisis lasts weeks.  But would the person who comes after me be happy with that decision?

And let me also remember that the Church Council has more say in this than I do.  My church in Bristol is amazing in terms of the members being responsible for the vision and the mission.  They've had very temporary pastors for over a decade now.  I don't want to undercut them.

Farewell, Dolly Parton

I'm as sad as everyone about the death of Dolly Parton.  Let me record a few thoughts:

--I'm glad that I was a child in the 70's, that my mom listened to A.M. radio, which meant I heard all kinds of music, including Dolly Parton's songs, both old and new.  The radio stations of my childhood played anything, so you could hear a Dolly Parton song, then a Beatles song, then an old Elvis song, sprinkled with modern pop by groups like Bread, the Carpenters, and so on.

Modern algorithms would not have sent Dolly Parton music my way.  But I must confess that it has taken me many decades to appreciate her music, and I still wouldn't choose her music for a long drive or an evening at home.

--I didn't see her acting during my childhood.  I didn't see 9 to 5 until a few years ago.  I did love Steel Magnolias.

--I've never been to Dollywood.  I would go, if I won tickets.

--I'm not an expert on business, but from my outsider view, she seemed to have business smarts that most of us will never possess.  She know how to capitalize on success while always seeming/being sincere in her enthusiasm.  That skill probably can't be taught in Business school.

--In terms of gender and presentation, she always intrigued me.  There have been years when I was frustrated and annoyed by her over the top femaleness.  Let me just be blunt:  the attention to her breasts was so offputting to me.  As I got older, her costumes intrigued me--the woman liked what she liked, and she loved sparkles.  

As I've gotten older, I've been in awe of all the ways she worked the system without losing her soul.  But I've also been sad about how hard it must have been for her, and about how many others did not survive, which wasn't her fault.

And I've been happy about how she blazed a trail for others--and then kept making sure the trail stayed clear (and to stretch the metaphor, she went back and made roads).

--Her songwriting skills -- wow.  I was amazed at how many songs she wrote.  I loved when she was interviewed and would talk about her creative process, about grabbing inspiration when it came and writing it down on scraps of paper, even the barf bag on an airplane.  

--Her musician skills -- wow.  She played with so many people through the years, and the fact that she could do so speaks to her singing skills, her skills on so many instruments, her expansive vision of what music could and should do.

--She didn't always talk openly about her faith.  Sure, she talked about the faith of her childhood.  I'd have liked to have known more about her grown up faith.

--Of course, she showed us that faith by all the people she helped, by the life she lived.

--Her philanthropy has always been what impressed me most about her.  She gave back, above and beyond, in so many ways, and much of what she did, we will never know about.

--And she continued to do good until the very end, in all the ways she was doing good:  music, support of other artists, business, philanthropy.  Her continued vibrance is why so many of us are feeling sad.  

Liberation Holidays: Juneteenth

Today we celebrate our newest federal holiday:  Juneteenth.  Of course, many populations have been celebrating Juneteenth since the news of freedom first came to the last enslaved people in Texas in 1865.  This is the first year that I've been in a workplace that recognized the holiday.  In 2021, I was working for a small school that was very stingy with holidays, so we didn't have that holiday or MLK day or Presidents Day.

In 2022, I was no longer working for that school.  I was driving back across several states, coming back to Florida from the onground intensive at Southern Seminary.  I was already a certified spiritual director through their program, but I went back to take advantage of the education, to have a reunion with my small group, and to see a friend graduate from the program.  Two weeks later I would turn around to drive back up to Arden to buy the house that I'm writing in this morning.  So far, I have never regretted that purchase, which is not usual for me when it comes to housing or moves or jobs.

Or maybe it is becoming usual.  I don't have regrets about the spiritual direction certificate or my MDiv.  My main regret about my job at SMC is that I didn't have it sooner.  I love this house in a way that I haven't loved any other house.  Maybe my lack of regret is a pleasant part of being in late midlife.

I am tempted to tie these ideas back to Juneteenth, but I don't want to trivialize the holiday or the history.  While regret can enslave us, it's a very different enslavement than other forces and humans that enslave.

Wat are the forces enslaving so many of us? We think of iron shackles, but there are other societal constructs that hold so many back: debt, geopolitical forces, violence, educational systems.  And let's not forget that literal slavery hasn't disappeared. 

So on this Juneteenth, let us think about the captives who need our help to be set free. Let us also think about all the captivity narratives that hold us enslaved. Let us embrace liberation narratives. Let us envision what life would look like if all were truly free.

All the Battles Worth Watching, One after Another

We spent a long chunk of time yesterday watching One Battle After Another.  It's a movie that's been out for awhile, but only recently free to stream on Amazon Prime.  I had forgotten how long it was, but happily, we started it in the late afternoon, not at 7:30 at night.

It wasn't until the later part of the movie, during one of the long (LONG) car chases that I became aware of how long it was taking to finish the movie.  It was compelling from the beginning until close to the end, compelling in ways that surprised me.

I was impressed with all the chunks of narrative that did manage to come together.  Paul Thomas Anderson deserved those Oscars for best director and best adapted screenplay.  There were moments when I did some math to try to figure out the revolutionary aspect of it all--if the daughter is 16 or 17, then the revolutionaries were active in 2008 or 2009?  The planting of bombs in government buildings and calling in bomb threats from a pay phone seemed so 1972 to me, but clearly, that timeline wouldn't work.  It was a nebulous revolutionary movement in the movie, so I was willing to suspend my initial disbelief.

There's another revolutionary movement in the movie, and it's the "Latino Harriet Tubman situation."  This movie has a lot to say about a great many issues, and one of the disadvantages of a vast movie is that some issues get short shrift.  I'd have liked more about all the Latino issues, especially the nods to the sanctuary movement that are hiding there in plain sight for those of us with eyes to see.  It's in the storylines about migration where we see revolutionaries who are working for social justice and working against a government that's against the flourishing of all people--unlike the other revolutionaries, the main characters who seem to be just blowing things up for the thrill of it all.

I try very hard not to fault movies or books or TV shows for not being the story that I wish they could have been.  In the end, I was happy to have a well-made movie to watch, a movie with much to mull over, a movie worth re-watching, as so few things are deserving of a second look these days.

The Feast Day of Oscar Romero

Oscar Romero is now officially a saint, and today is his feast day.  On this day in 1980, he was killed, a martyr for the faith.  When I made this collage card years ago, I couldn't believe that he'd ever be canonized:

Many scholars believe that he was chosen to be Archbishop precisely because he was expected not to make trouble. All that changed when one of his good friends, an activist Jesuit priest, was assassinated by one of the death squads roaming the country. Romero became increasingly political, increasingly concerned about the poor who were being oppressed by the tiny minority of rich people in the country. He called for reform. He called on the police and the soldiers to stop killing their brethren. And for his vision, he was killed as he consecrated the bread for Mass.

I was alive when he was martyred, but I didn't hear or read about it.  I remember reading about some of the more famous murders, particularly of the nuns, and wondering why people would murder nuns or missionaries who were there to help--I had yet to learn of the horrors of colonialism throughout history.

In my first year of college, I was asked to be part of a service that honored the martyrdom of Romero, and this event was likely how I heard of him first.  Or maybe it was earlier that semester when our campus pastor took a group of us to Jubilee Partners.

Jubilee Partners was a group formed by the same people that created Koinonia, the farm in Americus Georgia that most people know because they also created Habitat for Humanity--but they were so much more, in their witness of how Christian love could play out in real practice in one of the most segregated and poor parts of the U.S. south.  In the early years of Jubilee Partners, when I went there, the group helped people from Central America get to Canada, where they could get asylum in the 1980's, when they couldn't get asylum in the U.S.

My consciousness was formed by these encounters and by other encounters I had throughout the 80's.  I met many people in the country illegally, and I heard about the horrors that brought them here.  Then, as now, I couldn't imagine why we wouldn't let these people stay.

Many of us may think that those civil wars are over, but many countries in Central America are still being torn apart by violence.  The words of Romero decades ago are sadly still relevant today:  "Brothers, you came from our own people. You are killing your own brothers. Any human order to kill must be subordinate to the law of God, which says, 'Thou shalt not kill'. No soldier is obliged to obey an order contrary to the law of God. No one has to obey an immoral law. It is high time you obeyed your consciences rather than sinful orders. The church cannot remain silent before such an abomination. ...In the name of God, in the name of this suffering people whose cry rises to heaven more loudly each day, I implore you, I beg you, I order you: stop the repression."

But his teachings go beyond just a call for an end to killing.  His messages to the wider church are still powerful:  "A church that doesn't provoke any crises, a gospel that doesn't unsettle, a word of God that doesn't get under anyone’s skin, a word of God that doesn't touch the real sin of the society in which it is being proclaimed — ​what gospel is that?"

And even those of us who are not part of a faith tradition can find wisdom in his teachings:  "Each time we look upon the poor, on the farmworkers who harvest the coffee, the sugarcane, or the cotton... remember, there is the face of Christ."

If we treated everyone we met as if that person was God incarnate, what a different world we would have!

But for those of us who are tired from the work of this weary world, here's a message of hope and a reminder of the long view.  This prayer, while not written by him (it was written by late Bishop Ken Untener of Saginaw, drafted for a homily by Cardinal John Dearden, and misattributed to Romero), is often called the Romero prayer:  "We are workers, not master builders, ministers, not messiahs. We are prophets of a future not our own." 

On this day that honors a man who was not always honored, let us take heart from his words and from his example.  Let us also remember that he was not always this force for good in the world; indeed, he was chosen to be Archbishop because the upper management of the church thought he would keep his nose stuck in a book and out of politics. 

In these days that feel increasingly more perilous, let us recommit ourselves to the type of love that Romero called us to show:  "Let us not tire of preaching love; it is the force that will overcome the world."

Catechisms and Croziers in Confessions Class

In yesterday's Lutheran Confessions class, our professor closed our session on Luther's large and small catechisms by asking what the role of the historical church documents is today which led us to an interesting discussion about good ways to educate children--and acknowledgement that now, as in Luther's day, adults may need some basic Church/Christian education too.

At some point in class, we talked about protests and whether or not clergy would be allowed at twenty-first century protests.  Our professor, who is president of the seminary and has been a bishop in the past, said of course clergy are allowed to go to protests as long as they remember that they are answerable to the larger Church, which includes bishops.

Along the way, we had a talk about the authority of bishops, and our professor said that he used to go to protests for causes that aligned with his faith, and he would go in full bishop regalia, including crozier.  He did this for a variety of reasons, but mainly to remind everyone whose authority he claimed.  He knew that if any clergy member was going to be arrested, they'd start with him, and he figured that they might resist, since it wouldn't make a great visual, arresting a bishop in full regalia with a crozier.

We had a few minutes of amusement, thinking about the police trying to figure out how to handle the crozier and envisioning the police car driving away with the crozier sticking out the window.  Then it was back to the serious business of thinking about the future of the Church in light of Reformation history.

Making Valentines as Support for Social Justice

Over on Facebook, I've been watching an event take shape, something that we can do to support people showing up to demand social justice in Minneapolis:  make Valentines!

On the face of it, it may seem pointless.  Surely we should send money.  Or perhaps our troubled time demands more:  going to Minneapolis to be part of the protests.

But for all sorts of reasons, many of us can't do that.  But we can make Valentines.  

Here are the details:

Love Casts Out Fear

Pocket Valentines for Our Neighbors

This Valentine’s season, we’re reclaiming love as an act of courage.

Saint Valentine is often remembered for hearts and romance—but at the heart of his story is something deeper. Valentine was a Christian martyr, a witness to love that refused fear, even when it cost him his life.

In that same spirit, we’re inviting people of all ages and all beliefs to create small, simple Valentines that will be shared with immigrants, protestors, and neighbors in the Minneapolis area as a reminder:

 Love casts out fear.
 Love overcomes hate.
 You are not alone.

Bethlehem Lutheran Church and Nokomis Heights Lutheran Church both in Minneapolis have generously agreed to serve as a collection points for these Valentines. Nokomis Heights is a bilingual congregation and you are welcome to send message in English and Spanish.

You do not have to be Christian to participate.
You do not have to quote the Bible.
You just have to believe that love still matters.

⸻

 What to Make

Please keep Valentines:
• Small (index-card size or smaller)
• Lightweight
• Easy to pass out
• Easy to slip into a pocket, coat, or backpack

Think simple, durable, and human.

Great ideas:
• Cardstock or heavy paper
• Handwritten notes
• Simple drawings or hearts
• Short messages of love, courage, dignity, and belonging in English or Spanish

Please avoid:
• Glitter, bulky items, or anything fragile
• Candy or food
• Political party slogans

The goal is connection—not clutter.

⸻

 What to Write (Kid-Friendly & Open to All)

These Valentines may be received in moments of stress or uncertainty. Keep messages short, gentle, and easy to read—something that feels like a hand on the shoulder, not a lecture.

Simple messages like:
• “You are loved.”
• “You belong.”
• “Love is stronger than fear.”
• “You are not alone.”
• “We’re glad you’re here.”
• “You matter.”

These are perfect for kids, classrooms, families, and groups.

⸻

 Optional Bible Verses About Love & Neighbor

If you’d like to include Scripture, short verses or paraphrases are welcome. Please keep them brief and compassionate.

Great options:
• “Love casts out fear.” — 1 John 4:18
• “God is love.” — 1 John 4:8
• “Love your neighbor as yourself.” — Mark 12:31
• “Let all that you do be done in love.” — 1 Corinthians 16:14
• “Nothing can separate us from love.” — Romans 8:38–39 (paraphrase encouraged)
• “Do justice. Love kindness.” — Micah 6:8 (excerpt)

Paraphrasing Scripture into everyday language is encouraged—especially for kids.
⸻

 Send to:

Love Cast Out Hate
C/O Bethlehem Lutheran Church
4100 Lyndale Ave S
Minneapolis, MN 55409

OR

Nokomis Heights Lutheran Church
5300 10th Ave S
Minneapolis, MN 55417
⸻
Love that can fit in a pocket can still change someone’s day.
⸻

 Why This Matters

In a time when fear is loud and cruelty is normalized, small acts of love become radical. These Valentines won’t fix everything—but they will remind someone that love still shows up, still walks the streets, still believes people are worth protecting.

Sometimes resistance looks like a protest.
Sometimes it looks like a pocket-sized heart.

⸻

 How You Can Help
• Make a few Valentines
• Invite friends, kids, classrooms, or congregations to join
• Share this event widely
• Hold the recipients in love and prayer

Love is not naïve.
Love is brave.
Love still shows up.

Remembering All the Slaughtered Innocents

On Dec. 28, we remember the slaughter of all the male children under the age of 2 in Bethlehem in the days after the birth of Jesus. Why were they killed? Because of Herod's feelings of inadequacy, because of his fear. The magi tell him of a new king that has just been born, and he feels threatened. He will stop at nothing to wipe out any rival, even one who is still a tiny baby.

We like to think that we wouldn't have reacted that way. We like to think that we'd have joined the band of wise men and gone to pay our respects. We like to think that we'd have put aside our worries of not being good enough and our doubts.

But far too many of us would have responded in exactly the same way, if we had the resources at our command. You need only look at interpersonal relationships in the family or in the office to see that most of us have an inner Herod whom it is hard to ignore.

If you're old enough, you've had the startled feeling when you realize that the next rising star at your workplace or your congregation or your social group is a generation younger than you. It's hard to respond graciously.

Many of us are likely to respond to our feelings of inadequacy in unproductive ways. If we hear a good idea from someone who makes us feel threatened at work or in our families, how many of us affirm that idea? Instead of saying, "How interesting," we say, "How stupid!" And then we go to great lengths to prove that we're right, and whatever is making us feel inadequate is wrong.

So often I feel like I will never escape middle school, that particular kind of hell, where the boundaries were always fluid. Kids who were acceptable one day were pariahs the next. Many adolescents report feeling that they can't quite get their heads around all the rules and the best ways to achieve success.

Adult life can sometimes feel the same way. We fight to achieve equilibrium, only to find it all undone. Most of us don't have the power that Herod had, so our fight against powerlessness doesn't end in corpses. But it often results in a world of outcasts and lone victors, zero-sum games that leave us all diminished.

But feelings of inadequacy can have lethal consequences, especially when played out on a geopolitical scale, the powerful lashing out against the powerless. We live in a world where dictators can efficiently kill their country's population by the thousands or more. Sadly, we see this Herod dynamic so often that we're in danger of becoming jaded, hardened and unaffected by suffering.

Now as the year draws to a close, we can resolve to be on the lookout for ways that our inner Herod dominates and controls our emotional lives. We can resolve to let love rule our actions, not fear. We can also resolve to help those who are harmed by the Herods of our world.

Thinking of Herod might also bring to mind the flight into Egypt, the Holy Family turned into refugees. We remember the Holy Family fleeing in terror with only the clothes on their backs -- and we remember that this story is so common throughout the world.

As we think about Herod, let us pray to vanquish the Herods in our heads and in our lives. Let us pray for victims of terror everywhere, the ones that get away and the ones that are slaughtered.

World AIDS Day 2025

Here we are, World AIDS Day, in yet another year of our no-longer-new pandemic (COVID 19), a disease that's much easier to contract than AIDS, a disease that like AIDS preys on the more vulnerable in our society.

Maybe all diseases target the more vulnerable.  And our epidemiologist friends would remind us that diseases don't have emotions or calculations.  Diseases infect where they can, and in vulnerable populations, diseases have more opportunity.

AIDS is still a fairly fierce disease, even though we have medications that can keep people alive for decades--that's still a lot of disease management, which isn't a cure.  According to a UN Fact Sheet, 1.3 million people worldwide contracted AIDS in 2024 alone--that's just one year.  Since the beginning of this epidemic, 91.4 million people have been infected, and 44.1 million have died of the disease.

At this moment in time, COVID-19 isn't killing as many of us.  But it is still a disease to be reckoned with, a disease that leaves lots of wreckage in its wake.  Like AIDS, many of us assume that COVID-19 has been tamed or disappeared.  But like AIDS, some of us are more protected than others.

Dec. 1 is also the anniversary of the day in 1955 when Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat on the bus to a white passenger. This act is often given credit for launching the Civil Rights Movement, but what many forget is that various communities had begun planning for the launch, even before they could see or know what it would look like.

In fact, for generations, people had prepared for just such a moment. They had gotten training in nonviolent resistance. They had come together in community in a variety of ways. They were prepared.

Someone asked me once how I had come to be such an optimist. I've always had an optimistic streak, but frankly, my whole world view shifted when I watched Nelson Mandela walk out of prison. I fully expected him to be killed, but again, my worldview shifted when I watched South Africans stand in line for days (days!) to elect him president. And he was ready to be president because he had spent those decades in prison thinking about how he would run the country and making plans.

I have seen enormous social change happen in my lifetime--in the face of such evidence, I must agree with Dr. Martin Luther King, who said the arc of history is long, but it bends towards justice.  

Some years, that arc seems so long and the bending so difficult to discern.  Diseases show us where we need to bend that arc towards justice, where there's still opportunity for progress.

Those of us who work towards social justice and human dignity for all know how long the struggle might be. We are similar to those medieval builders of cathedrals: we may not be around to see the magnificent completion of our vision, but it's important to play our part. In the words of that old Gospel song, we keep our eyes on the prize, our hands on the plow, and hold on.

Peace in the Middle East?

It has been a week of Nobel awards; this morning, along with many others, I'm waiting to see who wins the Peace Prize.  It's been a week of grim anniversaries:  the 2 year anniversary of the war in Gaza is the primary one that consumed much of the news.  But it's also a week where there might be a chance for peace in the Middle East.

I've also been alive long enough to know how impossible it seems to have peace in the Middle East, and how fragile any progress can be.  I've seen deals rejected, deals that seemed like good ones to me.  I've seen people dig into paths that will lead to certain ruin.

There are people wiser than I am who have many more words than I do.  But it seems like we might be at a hinge point here, and I wanted to note it.  

I've been thinking of other intractable conflicts which suddenly were solved, most notably the one in Ireland.  When that was signed in the late 90's, I thought that it had a slim chance of success.  And here we are, decades later, and peace has held.

May it also be so now. 

Fish Fries and Mission Questions

Yesterday afternoon we went over the mountain to Bristol, Tennessee for the last fish fry of the season as Faith Evangelical Lutheran Church.  It's one of the community events that the church does, usually 4 of them throughout the spring.  

It's an amazing deal.  Ten dollars per plate, which includes fried or baked fish, green beans, pierogi, mac and cheese, cole slaw, and a roll.  That ten dollars also includes a beverage and a vast array of desserts.  While most people don't treat the event as an all you can eat extravaganza, we do give seconds if asked.  The money raised goes local charities, primarily the food pantry.

It's not an evangelical event, not in the traditional way.  Most of the people who come to the event already have a home church.  Most of the people who come already know about the church.  It's a small community, so most of the people who come have a personal connection to those of us at the church preparing and serving the food.

In a variety of classes and workshops on mission, I've been told that an essential question for churches is this one:  would your larger community miss you if you were gone?  Does the larger community even know that you are here?

Long before Faith Lutheran starts to advertise, the phone calls come in January, phone calls asking when the first fish fry will be.  Our church raises not only money for the food bank, but members work there, distributing food to the community.  We don't do the kinds of things that other churches might do:  no one uses our building but us, for example.  We don't offer computer literacy lessons or other kinds of classes that community members might want.  We are far from the legislative places where big decisions are made--we won't be demonstrating as a single church.

I often think of what I might do if I was their full-time pastor.  I'm not convinced that the church can grow much in terms of gaining new members.  There might be more to do in terms of being an essential member of the community, in terms of networking.  But again, it's a small community, so it's likely already happening, although perhaps not in a way that mission experts would be able to quantify.

How many members, how many individuals impacted?  I am grateful that I don't have to think in terms of these numbers.   I can just show up to enjoy a great meal, exchange stories with people who come, and give thanks for a wonderful community.

A Great Teaching Day: Nuclear Apocalypses and Civil Rights Primers

Yesterday was a great teaching day, although I didn't fully savor it.  I had several seminary projects due last night, one of which was a presentation, so that stress was simmering in the background.  My commuting has gotten a bit nightmarish, with slow downs and stops that add an hour to my trip home.  By the time my seminary class started, I was more stressed than normal.

So let me savor the teaching day here.  In my Nonfiction Writing class on Tuesday, we sketched out the remaining class days--there are only 6 of them, or there were on Tuesday.  My students wanted to think about propaganda yesterday, so we began with the Daisy ad from LBJ's 1964 presidential campaign, the ad which combines a cute toddler pulling apart a daisy with a nuclear explosion.

I knew that we were going to discuss the ad, so I spent yesterday morning watching this video that compares The Day After to Threads.  It talks about The Day After as a form of propaganda/teaching.  We only watched the first part, because I didn't want to expose them to Threads, which is quite graphic and gruesome.  We had a good discussion.  The students had never seen either film, but the commentary was understandable (as we watched it, I wasn't sure that it would be).

Then I went to teach my American Lit survey class.  It was the day to discuss Martin Luther King's "Letter from a Birmingham Jail."  I wanted to use some music to set the mood as they came in, so I cued up this album (by the magic of YouTube):

I had the CD cover on the screen, and one of my students walked in and said, "That looks like they're having fun."  Hmmm.  So I used it as a later teaching moment.

I've actually seen the real photograph--there was a display of Civil Rights photo at the Ft. Lauderdale Museum of Art.  As I recall, it's part of a three part set.  I said to the class, "What you can't see on this side is the firehose of water being aimed at peaceful protestors."

We talked about protest, about the rights guaranteed by the Constitution, about the unjust situation that King described in his letter.  We talked about modern issues of injustice that need our attention and how we might affect change (write letters, protest, run for office, write a poem or a song).  I talked about how the Civil Rights protestors of the 50's and 60's came from a church background and what that meant.  And then to conclude class, I had them write about the best way to do that, while we listened to two songs from the album, "This Little Light of Mine" and "(Ain't Gonna Let Nobody) Turn Me Round."

It was a good mix of history, modern politics/issues of social injustice, civics reminders (your legislators will take notice if you write or call, and they may change their minds), literature, and song.  It was less a focus on literature than most class meetings, but it felt important.  And it will lead nicely to Claudia Rankine's Citizen:  A Lyric on Tuesday. 

The Feast Day of Oscar Romero

Oscar Romero is now officially a saint, and today is his feast day.  On this day in 1980, he was killed, a martyr for the faith.  When I made this collage card years ago, I couldn't believe that he'd ever be canonized:

Many scholars believe that he was chosen to be Archbishop precisely because he was expected not to make trouble. All that changed when one of his good friends, an activist Jesuit priest, was assassinated by one of the death squads roaming the country. Romero became increasingly political, increasingly concerned about the poor who were being oppressed by the tiny minority of rich people in the country. He called for reform. He called on the police and the soldiers to stop killing their brethren. And for his vision, he was killed as he consecrated the bread for Mass.

I was alive when he was martyred, but I didn't hear or read about it.  I remember reading about some of the more famous murders, particularly of the nuns, and wondering why people would murder nuns or missionaries who were there to help--I had yet to learn of the horrors of colonialism throughout history.

In my first year of college, I was asked to be part of a service that honored the martyrdom of Romero, and this event was likely how I heard of him first.  Or maybe it was earlier that semester when our campus pastor took a group of us to Jubilee Partners.

Jubilee Partners was a group formed by the same people that created Koinonia, the farm in Americus Georgia that most people know because they also created Habitat for Humanity--but they were so much more, in their witness of how Christian love could play out in real practice in one of the most segregated and poor parts of the U.S. south.  In the early years of Jubilee Partners, when I went there, the group helped people from Central America get to Canada, where they could get asylum in the 1980's, when they couldn't get asylum in the U.S.

My consciousness was formed by these encounters and by other encounters I had throughout the 80's.  I met many people in the country illegally, and I heard about the horrors that brought them here.  Then, as now, I couldn't imagine why we wouldn't let these people stay.

Many of us may think that those civil wars are over, but many countries in Central America are still being torn apart by violence.  The words of Romero decades ago are sadly still relevant today:  "Brothers, you came from our own people. You are killing your own brothers. Any human order to kill must be subordinate to the law of God, which says, 'Thou shalt not kill'. No soldier is obliged to obey an order contrary to the law of God. No one has to obey an immoral law. It is high time you obeyed your consciences rather than sinful orders. The church cannot remain silent before such an abomination. ...In the name of God, in the name of this suffering people whose cry rises to heaven more loudly each day, I implore you, I beg you, I order you: stop the repression."

But his teachings go beyond just a call for an end to killing.  His messages to the wider church are still powerful:  "A church that doesn't provoke any crises, a gospel that doesn't unsettle, a word of God that doesn't get under anyone’s skin, a word of God that doesn't touch the real sin of the society in which it is being proclaimed — ​what gospel is that?"

And even those of us who are not part of a faith tradition can find wisdom in his teachings:  "Each time we look upon the poor, on the farmworkers who harvest the coffee, the sugarcane, or the cotton... remember, there is the face of Christ."

If we treated everyone we met as if that person was God incarnate, what a different world we would have!

But for those of us who are tired from the work of this weary world, here's a message of hope and a reminder of the long view.  This prayer, while not written by him (it was written by late Bishop Ken Untener of Saginaw, drafted for a homily by Cardinal John Dearden, and misattributed to Romero), is often called the Romero prayer:  "We are workers, not master builders, ministers, not messiahs. We are prophets of a future not our own." 

On this day that honors a man who was not always honored, let us take heart from his words and from his example.  Let us also remember that he was not always this force for good in the world; indeed, he was chosen to be Archbishop because the upper management of the church thought he would keep his nose stuck in a book and out of politics. 

In these days that feel increasingly more perilous, let us recommit ourselves to the type of love that Romero called us to show:  "Let us not tire of preaching love; it is the force that will overcome the world."

Sermon for February 9, 2025

 February 9, 2025

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott

Luke 5:  1-11

In today’s readings, we get not one, but two call stories, Simon Peter’s and Isaiah’s.  They are similar in that the call in both stories is clear:  the call itself is clear, even if the mission isn’t clear.  Catching people?  What exactly does Jesus mean by that?  After two thousand years of hearing this call story, we might think we know.

I’ve spent a lifetime thinking about what it means to hear this kind of call.  During my formative years in Lutheran (ELCA) churches in the U.S. southeast, we were asked if we felt we had a calling, and if so, we would find ourselves on a track to either missionary work or seminary.  It was mostly males who heard this call.  It’s not really surprising—after all, in Sunday School and Confirmation classes, all of the call stories we heard featured males as the primary character:  Abraham, Moses, Jonah, Peter, and Paul.  And historically, people who didn’t look like Peter and Paul were not allowed to follow a call into ministry.

That idea of call has almost always been the same:  drop everything, follow Jesus, abandon your life and families.  Go and make disciples.  It was never stay and make disciples.  It was always go.  The call would be worth the sacrifice.  And in my formative years, we were always told of how extreme the sacrifice might be, particularly if we wanted to do missionary work.

Over the past 20 years, I have frequently thought of the nature of call and sacrifice as I researched seminaries.  Until very recently, ELCA  seminaries also assumed that people who wanted to be ordained would be able to uproot themselves and uproot or leave their families and go to a campus that was likely very far away.  It is no wonder that the ELCA has a shortage of pastors.

If you’ve been attending church regularly, you’ve probably heard sermons where pastors reminded you that you, too, are called to go fish for people, to go and make disciples.  It’s important to know that the writer of the Gospel of Luke has a different reason for giving us this story of Peter’s conversion in this way.  The Gospel of Luke is a story continued in Acts, and when we read the two books together, parts of the Gospel are heard differently.  The story of the conversion of Peter is offered to help justify Peter’s later leadership position.  One Gospel commentator points out that Luke sees the twelve disciples as having a different mission than the mission of ordinary people, like you and me who are more likely to be called to stay and build faith communities that bear a different kind of fruit than missionaries who go two by two.  Yet many sermons that I’ve heard lift up Simon Peter as a model for us all, that we should go to every nation and make disciples.

That missionary model of going to foreign nations to make disciples is problematic for many reasons.  And frankly, these days, it would be hard to find a foreign nation that hasn’t heard of Jesus.  There’s no reason to travel to a foreign nation on the off chance of finding someone who hasn’t already heard of Jesus.  In fact, many developing nations see the U.S. as a mission field full of people who need to hear the good news of God’s saving grace.

Yet every year we get this call story of Peter, and frankly, I wish we had a broader view of call stories.  You may have picked up on that, as you have listened to my sermons over the past 15 months—the Advent story of Mary and the angel Gabriel can be seen as a call story, as can the Advent story of Elizabeth’s late-life pregnancy, as can Joseph deciding not to divorce Mary.  I could go on and on, but you get the idea.  There are many ways to be called, and many missions to which we can be called.  

There is another problem with getting the exact same call story every year:  it’s easy to think we know everything there is to know about it.  As I returned to this Sunday’s gospel, I forced myself to look at it more deeply.  I read the chapters around this Gospel, and I was struck by how Simon has had a chance to get to know Jesus.  The Gospel of Luke chapter 4 is where Jesus heals Simon’s mother-in-law, one of his first miracles.  In Mark and Matthew, the appearance of Jesus and the conversion of Simon is much more sudden.  Jesus appears and says, “Follow me,” and that’s what Simon does.  Here the conversion is more gradual.

When I think about call stories, I’ve been frustrated by the maleness of them, and I’ve also been irked by the youngness of those called.  It’s easy to abandon everything and follow Jesus if you’re working in a dead-end fishing job.  But Simon Peter in Luke’s Gospel is more established.  He has a mother-in-law which says he has or had a wife.    The men have been fishing all night and caught nothing.  They are washing their nets—the equipment needs tending, even if the work has amounted to nothing. I think about this scene and my own work life as a teacher.   I have tried to think about a modern equivalent:  maybe the writing and rewriting of reports that the worker suspects will never be read or the new textbooks that require the rewriting of syllabi and lesson plans, even though the new textbook doesn’t say much that is new.  Maybe the men in today’s Gospel are more like us than they seem at first:  ordinary people doing ordinary, necessary work even when they can’t believe it’s necessary or important.

Jesus tells them to go to try fishing again, to put their nets in deep water.  In Biblical language, the deep water is a place of chaos, but also a place of creation—the language here has links to the creation story in Genesis where God comes into the chaos and forms creation.

We have been living through a year that feels chaotic so far.  We have a flu season that instead of winding down as expected is headed to a new peak—and the statistics about bird flu are alarming.  We are a small congregation, but this year, we’ve experienced more death of those closest to our community; this year, it may seem more like the forces of death are winning over God’s resurrection promise.  and thus, might feel more menacing.  If you’re paying attention to national or international news, the world feels even more chaotic than in years past.

A week where Mike Flynn and others accuse groups like Lutheran Social Services of laundering money for criminal groups—well, these are strange times we’re living in.  And I have worked for and with Lutheran Social Services for decades, and I can assure you that they are not laundering money, unless by laundering money one means that the group is taking money from those of us who donate it and making sure that the hungry and the homeless and the refugees have resources.  They do good work, as does Lutheran World Relief, ELCA World Hunger, and any number of other religious organizations.  We’ve had decades of the U.S. government saying that religious groups should take care of the poor and dispossessed, a thousand points of light doing care work more effectively, more compassionately than government can.  Religious groups have done just that.  And now, we have people in the government criticizing religious groups for doing that work.  We live in strange times.

Today’s Gospel speaks to our strange times.  In fact, we can see this call story as one that speaks to our strange times.  If we see the deep waters as representing chaos, it’s clear that God does not leave us to drown.  We are to cast down our nets and try again, even when we’re convinced that it’s a fool’s errand, that we’ve worked and worked and worked and there are no fish to be caught.

God appears to tell us to try again.  In our lives of chaos, try again.  Even if we’re older and tired, try again.  We may be convinced that God can no longer make all things new, that there is only chaos and no creation left in the deep waters.  Today’s call story reminds us of all the times that God has answered by giving so much fish that the nets threaten to break, that we have to call in our fishing partners to help us so that the overflowing abundance doesn’t break the boat.

In our current climate full of the cacophony of chaos, the deep water of our time in history, Jesus calls us to a different life and calls us to help others to find a different life.  Listen to the call of Jesus.  Look for ways to live out the Gospel.  Let us reinforce our nets and plunge them into the deep water.  Let us pray for more abundance than we could have imagined.  Rather than drown in the depths of fear and despair, let us reinforce our nets, preparing for the abundance that God calls us to be ready to receive.

 

Lutheran Social Services Under Fire

On Sunday, I got home from preaching about the Feast Day of the Presentation to find people across social media in a state of disbelief and outrage about remarks made about Lutheran Social Services, with Mike Flynn accusing the group of laundering money. Good grief. It would be laughable if I didn't know so many people would take this seriously.

I've worked for LSS in my youth, and I have continued to be part of groups that partner with them. I have seen the good work that they do. I am also old enough to remember that many of these social service agencies grew bigger as past presidents like Reagan cut government services saying that religious groups should be taking care of the needs of impoverished citizens. And now, after decades of doing that, there's criticism and blow back/up.

It's flabbergasting to watch the situation in Washington, D.C.--as I'm sure the ones doing the breaking up of government want it to be.  I am interested in what happens to the Department of Education.  I am irked by what is happening at USAID.  I am convinced it's not about saving money, no matter what these DOGE folks say.  These are the most underfunded parts of government.  If you want to save money consequences be damned, set your sights on the Department of Defense.

This is the strangest time in U.S. history that I have ever seen, and I am not thinking I will see normal times again in my lifetime.

But let me remind myself of past times of poor prospects that suddenly brightened.  Let me remember the fall of the wall that separated East and West Germany.  Let me remember Nelson Mandela being released from prison.

Let me continue to do what I can:  taking the longer view, making phone calls, making art.  This morning's reading from Psalm 37:  34-40 gave me hope (posterity for the peaceable!):

Wait for the Lord and keep to the Lord's way,
and the Lord will exalt you to inherit the land;
you will look on the destruction of the wicked.


35 I have seen the wicked oppressing
and towering like a cedar of Lebanon.
36 Again I passed by, and they were no more;
though I sought them, they could not be found.


37 Mark the blameless and behold the upright,
for there is posterity for the peaceable.
38 But transgressors shall be altogether destroyed;
the posterity of the wicked shall be cut off.


39 The salvation of the righteous is from the Lord;
the Lord is their refuge in the time of trouble.
40 The Lord helps them and rescues them;
the Lord rescues them from the wicked and saves them
because they take refuge in the Lord.

A Week in Sermons

It has been an interesting week, composing a sermon, while many people from all parts of life commented on the sermon given in the National Cathedral by Bishop Budde, while thinking about the first sermon Jesus gives (the lectionary reading for Jan. 26).  One of my parishioners died last week, so I've also been thinking about funeral homilies, how they are both similar to the weekly sermon and different.

My spouse stayed home yesterday; he's preparing for a colonoscopy.  Because our tech volunteer is recording the sermon now, he was able to see it (go here to view it for yourself). He had read a draft and commented on it.  He was not nearly as enthusiastic about the written draft than as about the recording.

I thought it was a decent sermon.  I was pleased with how I included all the readings to help us understand the Gospel text.  I thought it had ties to what is going on in our contemporary times:  I did reference Bishop Budde's sermon, and I got laughs when I said, "Most of us probably will never be invited to give a sermon at the National Cathedral--well almost certainly, none of us will be invited to give a sermon there."  But I encouraged us to think about our lives as the sermon we're delivering.  What do people learn about how God is at work in the world as they observe our lives?

I have connections with a wide variety of clergy on social media, and I know that many of them were planning to preach much more revolutionary sermons, calling attention to bishop statements from our own denomination, calling attention to the incoming administration's orders about immigration, about other issues of social justice that Jesus might tell us to pay attention to as we consider the words of Isaiah that Jesus chose to read.

I know that many people would look at my sermon and say that it's not prophetic, and depending on the definition they're using, they're right.  I didn't print out a sign that tells the federal government that they can't come on church property; it's a little country church in Southern Appalachia where that's not going to be an issue.  If we wanted to offer sanctuary to someone not in the country legally, we'd have to drive a great distance to find that person (I think).

I do know that the church does an amazing job of raising money and giving it away to various community groups; I know this because we had the annual meeting yesterday, and I took a copy of the document with me.  This church has completely changed the assumptions I used to have about small churches, country churches, all sorts of churches, and I mean that in the best way.

A Sermon to Emulate

All yesterday, I heard much talk about Bishop Budde's sermon at the worship Service of Prayer for the Nation, which was held at the National Cathedral. This morning, I decided to watch the whole sermon, not just the last few minutes which have gotten such attention, when she spoke directly to the incoming president, urging compassion to persecuted groups, like people here illegally and gay, lesbian, and trans children.

Bishop Budde is the Episcopal Bishop of the Archdiocese of Washington D.C., so it is no surprise that she knows how to craft a sermon.  I watched parts of the service that came before it:  an hour of gathering music (diverse selections), a wide variety of worship leaders and readers, that beautiful cathedral.  The whole service, 2 hours and 18 minutes, is here; the sermon itself is here; you can read the transcript here.

I then watched Bishop Budde's conversation with Rachel Maddow which was a different kind of conversation than I was expecting; you can watch it here.  They were both very thoughtful about what it means to give a sermon, that it's a different kind of speech than the kinds of speeches that usually flood our airwaves.  Bishop Budde talked about the need for compassion, and the tone of the ending of the sermon, about how compassion needs to be manifest in a given time.  I didn't think the tone was particularly angry or confrontational, particularly not in the context of the whole sermon.  

There was discussion of her courage, which she shrugged off.  Bishop Budde pointed out that the worship service that happens with each inauguration usually includes a direct address to the president, so what she did was not so unusual.  And those of us paying attention have seen her bravery before, in June of 2020, when she spoke out in the wake of the murder of George Floyd when President Trump talked about sending the U.S. military out to quell protests.

I remembered that Diane Rehm had an interview with Bishop Budde, so I sought it out.  They discussed Bishop Budde's book, How We Learn to Be Brave.  This interview gave me such happiness and left me feeling nourished in all sorts of ways.  You can listen/watch here.

This week's Gospel, Luke 4:14-21, has Jesus giving a sermon of sorts, and I need to start writing my own sermon for Sunday.  It's been a week of sermons and prayers, not just Bishop Budde's.  It's interesting to consider those, in light of all of the readings for Sunday.  I look forward to seeing how all of these streams converge.

Prophets and Martyrs, Past and Present (Sermon Notes)

I think that yesterday's sermon went well.  You can read it in this blog post, and you can see it (which will have some additions to the text) through this video on my YouTube channel.

As I did my pre-writing, I thought about how postponing the Baptism of Our Lord Sunday gave me an interesting opportunity to make connections between John the Baptist, Jesus, Martin Luther King, and the inauguration (which gave me an opportunity to talk about modern politicians, who will never say the words of John the Baptist, "I am not the Messiah").

I didn't talk much about modern politics; I wanted a sermon that was more hopeful than that.  As we looked at the recording of my sermon, my spouse said to me, "I don't think I've ever heard a sermon that connected John the Baptist, Jesus, and Martin Luther King Jr."

We will now get back on track with the Revised Common Lectionary.  I am somewhat sad to miss the opportunity to preach on the Wedding in Cana and water turned into wine, but I think it's better to get back on track sooner rather than later.

We came back across the mountain in blowing snow, but at least it wasn't sticking, unlike two weeks ago.  This winter is so different from last winter, in terms of weather that makes me question if our decision to travel was wise.  But I'm glad that we had the opportunity to gather.  I am glad that I had the opportunity to declare a message of hope.  As I looked at the congregation, I was struck by how many families are dealing with heavy stuff:  health stuff, death stuff, work stuff.  Darker days may be coming, and I'm glad I didn't scrap the ending to my sermon.